


Always Yes

by LetGladnessDwell



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: BBC Radio 1, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phanfic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetGladnessDwell/pseuds/LetGladnessDwell
Summary: In this universe, Dan and Phil spend all their money to move to London, betting everything that their pitch to the BBC for a weekly radio show will succeed. It doesn’t.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41
Collections: Phandom Fic Fests Holiday Exchange 2019





	Always Yes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [possumdnp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/possumdnp/gifts).



> Written for the 2019 Phandom Fic Fest Holiday Exchange. Thanks to @danhowellz for beta reading.
> 
> Standard RPF disclaimer: This is a work of fiction about fictional characters.

Phil is arranging tiny potted cacti on the windowsill, trying to decide which plants are friends and want to be cosy next to each other, when the call comes in. He stares at the smooth flesh of the little moonstone succulent cupped in his hand all the while a BBC radio producer on the other end of the call finds five different ways to say _no, we don’t want you, no, no, no, no._

He asks a few questions, hating how timid and halting his voice becomes, feeling suddenly like he is 15 instead of 25. When the call is over, he sets the plant down and lets the living room around him come slowly into focus. The room is almost empty, save for a few boxes in a corner, because he and Dan have only been in London for a few weeks. When they moved in, it was just days before the start of the London Olympics and it felt like the entire city was giddy with anticipation, and the city’s mood mirrored their own.

Since then the mostly empty rooms of the flat have felt like an imminent promise, like a held breath, but all Phil can think now as he looks at the room is _this was a mistake and it’s my fault._ A moment later he tries to take in a lungful of air but it stutters through his chest as he realizes, _oh god I have to tell Dan._

===========

The idea had been Dan’s, hatched months ago after a trip to the BBC studios in the West End to pre-record some segments for their first Christmas radio special. They’d gone out to get fancy drinks to celebrate afterward and were in a taxi on their way to stay the night with Phil’s brother Martyn. The city was asleep at that hour, but Dan had been absolutely buzzing with energy. Ideas spilled out of him about finding a way to work regularly for BBC Radio, about music shows he could curate and special segments they could film for the radio live stream.

“We were so good, and they loved us,” Dan had said, as the silent, sparkling city sped past the taxi windows, painting patterns of shadow and light on Dan’s skin. They both loved the city, and London at night made Phil think about the New Year’s Eve they’d spent together there, and the magic of being with Dan at midnight as the city burst into pyrotechnics and cheers around them. 

“That was so much fun. I want us to do this more, all the time,” Dan was saying. “We could do our own radio show every week instead of just a one-time show.” 

“But we’d have to move here to do a weekly show,” Phil said, the idea of living in London feeling like a foregone impossibility.

Dan leaned his head back against the seat and turned his head to smile at Phil, his brown eyes shining. “But we could figure it out. We’re good at making things work.”

Like most of Dan’s enthusiasms, the idea was infectious. It took shape on the train ride back to Manchester the next day, so that by the time they were back in their flat it seemed like they’d built a real world on just their words alone, and all they needed to do was wait for the rest of the world to catch up. 

But then months went by, time accelerating under the demands of making their own videos and the weekly Super Amazing Project they scripted and filmed together, though they still spun out ideas during idle moments, throwing out concepts like balls for the other to catch while Dan cooked dinner or Phil folded laundry.

The BBC kept in touch, reporting first on the enthusiastic audience feedback on the Christmas special, and then asking them to work on a few more one-off radio projects for them. And then, in early summer, they asked them to do another Christmas radio special. It started to feel like the BBC really liked them, which felt like being noticed by the most popular kid at school. So it had been Phil who one night called his mom and asked her if she knew anything about what it might cost to live in London.

She had been quiet for a moment, and he could practically hear her choosing her words, like she was standing in front of signpost with twenty signs hammered onto it, all pointing to different destinations.

“Love, everyone should live in a big city once in their lives,” she finally said. “Let me make some calls — I’m sure I know someone who knows about London real estate.”

And that’s how Phil found himself with the name of a friend of a friend scrawled on the back of a takeaway menu. When he finally got up the courage to dial the number, the listing agent told him in the patient, paternal voice of someone who talked to delusional would-be London renters every day that his questionable source of income — _what do you do? make videos on YouTube?_ — was going to be a laughable sell for property owners with rentals available in London’s squeezed real estate market, where people queued up to see minuscule flats hours after the advert was posted. The only chance he had was to pay for an entire 12-month lease term up front. 

After that Phil just remembers moments in snapshots, like the night he and Dan sat next to each other on the cramped couch, both their laptops open to their bank accounts and with a calculator balanced on Dan’s stomach. They stared at each other when they realized that no matter how they worked the numbers, it was likely they would be moving to London with almost no money left after paying for a full year in advance.

“What do we do if the weekly show idea doesn’t work?” Dan asked, worrying at his upper lip with his teeth. 

“But it will work,” Phil said. He was usually the one riddled with anxiety, mining the future for worries like a fortune teller. But over time, there was something about this idea — of being radio presenters on the BBC — that just grew to seem _right_.

The certainty of it sat in his chest like a small pebble. Every time he thought about moving to London, it was like that pebble hummed in his solar plexus, and the message radiating out to his entire body was _yes, yes, yes._ He was anxious about other things — about money, about living farther away from his parents — but he knew they could do a weekly radio show and be good at it. They hadn’t even worked up the actual pitch they would submit to the BBC, but he just felt like all the work of the last few years had been heading in this direction. There was no way the BBC would say no. 

“We have to already be living in London for them to take us seriously,” Phil told Dan. “We have to be there before we submit the pitch.” He knew it was reckless, but the little round pebble of certainty inside him felt so solid, so sure. 

Then there was the moment they looked at each other. “Are we really doing this?” Dan asked. And Phil doesn’t remember saying _yes_ out loud, just how they smiled at each other and started laughing at the same time, leaning into each other’s bodies with the headiness of it, the absolute ridiculous insanity of it; an insanity that felt somehow like it was already kismet because they were doing it together. It was easy to be brave when you had someone to be brave with.

After that, it was a snowstorm of details: ending their lease in Manchester, packing the apartment, selling or giving away things, saying goodbye to friends, running to London for a few days in July to sign a lease and writing a massive cheque on the very first, extremely imperfect flat they toured. It finally felt real a day later when Phil logged into his bank account and saw that the cheque had cleared, and the new balance was less than what he’d had when he first moved to York as a gangly, awkward freshman years ago.

And then, a week after moving, they spent one marathon all-nighter working up both a video pitch and a detailed written synopsis for a weekly BBC radio show, which they emailed the next morning, making sure to add an addendum to the end of the email with their new London address.

An email response came back later that day: _This is amazing! We’ll be in touch soon._

===========

Phil can feel an edge of panic creeping up now, a rushing noise in his head. How could the answer be _no_ when everything in him had been saying _yes_? 

He shakes his head a bit, trying to wake up from this daze, this reality that feels like the wrong script, a horror movie instead of a superhero film. He needs to find Dan.

He feels himself start to walk, winding through the mostly empty rooms until he finally finds Dan on the bottom floor, sitting cross-legged in front of another IKEA furniture project, pieces of cheap wood fanned out around him. 

Dan looks up at Phil with happy eyes, his face already blooming into his easy smile.

“You wanker,” he says, without heat. “You’ve disappeared for so long because you want me to do all the work.”

Phil lowers himself to the floor, sitting back on his heels, and swallows. “Dan,” he starts. “Dan—I—” 

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes because he doesn’t want to see Dan’s face.

“They said no.” He rushes on, “The BBC said no to the weekly radio show. They don’t think it will work right now. They said it’s not personal, they said it’s not us, they still want us for the Christmas special, it’s just that upper management doesn’t think the timing is good right now for a weekly show.” 

Phil presses his lips together to force himself to stop talking and opens his eyes. Dan is staring at him, transfixed.

“They said no?” Dan asks, a perplexed, plaintive note in his voice. Phil looks at him and thinks, almost helplessly, _he’s barely 21, he’s so young, he believed because I told him to believe._

But a moment later Dan’s face tightens into an outraged defiance. “Who did you talk to? Let me call them.”

He’s already standing up, unfolding his long body and bending down to take the phone Phil had forgotten he was still holding. Dan punches in the password and he’s gone out of the room before Phil can stop him. A moment later he hears Dan’s voice in the hallway and a few muffled phrases — c _an we rework the pitch, you’ve loved everything we’ve done, we have so many awesome ideas —_ followed by a long stretch of silence. 

When Dan finally returns to the room, Phil can see the wobble of repressed tears in his eyes. Dan stares down at Phil, shaking his head slightly, and then in a blur his body is right next to Phil, knocking Phil back on his ass and then practically crawling into his lap as he presses his face against Phil’s neck, one arm winding around Phil’s torso.

“I’m such a bloody idiot,” Dan says, his voice low and raw. “I’m so stupid. It was such a stupid, stupid, stupid idea. Why in the hell did I think this would work?”

Phil turns his face into Dan’s hair, feeling the tingle of tears start behind his nose and move up behind his eyes. His throat is so tight that it takes him a few tries to speak in a voice that sounds choked and tiny to his own ears.

“But I wanted it too,” he says. “I was the one who made us go.” 

Dan is already shaking his head before Phil even finishes speaking, his hair brushing against Phil’s cheek.

“Everything I love goes to shit eventually, I don’t know why I thought this would be different,” Dan mumbles, voice thick with the tears Phil can now feel, wet against the skin of his neck.

Phil doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t even begin to know how to fix this. He’s always wanted to give Dan only good things, to protect him from disappointment, and to help him see the world as touched with a bit of wonder and serendipity, the way Phil does — but he’s failing spectacularly at all of that right now.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I should never have let this happen. I should have talked to more people, or done more research, or —” he trails off, feeling like he’s running out of air to breathe. “What are we going to do?” he wonders out loud, hearing the note of disbelief in his voice like he’s watching himself from afar.

Dan doesn’t have an answer. Instead, he says, “Those fuckers,” and a moment later, “I hate this, I hate everything.” Phil knows he means that he hates himself too.

Then they are both quiet, utterly silenced by this rejection that feels so disastrous. Later, this is what Phil will remember most about this moment — the perfect stillness, a sense of time slowing down to just them in this space, with only a few distant sounds leaking in from the exciting, magical, impersonal city outside the windows. 

The late August golden sun streams in, picking out glints of dust motes twirling lazily in the air. Phil thinks idly that he was just getting used to the smell of this new apartment, had started to build a mental map of their new neighbourhood, figuring out where all the local coffee shops were, and even had started to recognize different cashiers at the grocery store. He had started to feel the start of settling into a new life — adapting like clay to a new shape — a life he had wanted to share with Dan. 

Phil doesn’t know how much time passes until Dan shifts in the embrace, and then becomes a flurry of agitated movement. First he moves to pull more of Phil’s weight into him, so that now Phil is cradled between Dan’s legs and Phil’s forehead is tipped forward to rest on Dan’s clavicle. They hold this position for a few beats, with Dan palming the back of Phil’s head, and then Dan makes a huff of frustration and breaks the hold, curling his body down so he can rest his head in Phil’s lap, his nose pushed into Phil’s hip, his long arms wrapped around himself.

Phil thinks about how their bodies are usually a puzzle together, even if it takes a few tries to find the right way to fit together. But right now nothing feels right. He stares down at Dan like he’s looking at a stranger.

Dan must feel the same thing too, because he’s already sitting up, barely letting his eyes glance against Phil’s before saying “I need to think. I don’t want to talk right now.”

He holds out a hand toward Phil, and the palm he holds out is a warning, even though Phil hasn’t moved. “Just don’t,” he says. “Just don’t,” he repeats, and then he’s up and gone, leaving Phil sitting in the empty room alone. 

Phil hears the thump of music start up and knows Dan is probably going to blast music and play video games for hours. The throb of a headache starts at the top of his skull, and he’s suddenly aware of a gnawing in his stomach. He can’t remember now when he last ate. 

Then he’s on his feet, hurrying towards the front door with an intense desire to get immediately away, to escape. He needs to be gone, and it needs to be now. He barely remembers to grab the keys and phone and then he’s out the door, with no idea of where he’s going or why.

 _Just like my life_ , he thinks.

===========

He returns hours later, his head pounding, having walked until his feet ached. The first hour he just walked to try and outpace the panic clawing at his chest, but then later it was the shame. He circled the block of Martyn’s flat a few times, trying to get up the courage to knock on his door, but he couldn’t do it. Instead he turned away and sent Martyn a text: _Call me when you can_. _I’ve cocked it all up and I need your advice._

He ended up on a park bench, watching families and couples walk past. Everyone looked busy and happy and successful; no one looked like a fuck up. No one was sitting alone and friendless on a park bench except him. 

When the sun began to set, he started to walk home, not knowing where else to go. He ducked into a corner shop and picked up a wrapped sandwich for himself. After a moment, he turned back to grab one for Dan too. 

===========

It’s almost dark outside by the time he unlocks the front door, but it’s completely dark inside the flat. He flicks on a light and pauses to listen. The whole flat is hushed; he can’t hear any music or the sounds of a video game. 

He finds Dan in his darkened bedroom. He’s on top of the duvet splayed out on his belly, his face pushed into a pillow. Phil lets his eyes adjust to the darkness, but he can’t tell if Dan is awake or asleep until Dan rolls to his side and opens his eyes to stare unblinking at Phil.

“You left,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Phil replies, still standing in the doorway. “I had to get out.”

“You wanted to get away from me.” Dan says it like a fact.

“Maybe,” Phil says, moving into the room and setting down the bag of food on the foot of the bed. “Or maybe not. I don’t know what I needed. It didn’t help, if that makes you feel better. I feel awful.”

Dan rolls onto his back. “I feel awful too.”

“I got us some sandwiches,” Phil says. “Are you hungry?”

“I am, actually,” Dan says, and he leans over to turn on the cheap bedside lamp. Light pools into the bedroom, casting a little golden circle around the bed.

Phil toes off his shoes and sits on the mattress, scooting back until he’s against the wall next to Dan. This instantly feels so much better than sitting on that park bench alone. 

He hooks one socked foot in the loop of the bag at the end of the bed and drags it up until Dan grabs it.

“Oi, don’t get your foot germs all over our food,” Dan says, aggrieved, as he sits up to place his shoulder next to Phil’s. 

They unwrap the sandwiches and start to eat. Almost in anticipation, Phil can feel his headache dull and recede.

“I’m still so mad,” Dan says after taking a few bites. “I just don’t understand why they said no.” 

He turns to Phil. “It was a really, really good idea,” he says, and his earnest confusion makes Phil’s gut twist. 

Phil sighs. “I thought so too,” he says. “They kept wanting to work with us, so I just thought they would jump at the chance to do it all the time.”

He stares down at half-eaten sandwich. “I’m embarrassed I made a bad decision, and now I don’t know what happens next.”

Dan nudges Phil’s foot with his own. “ _We_ made a bad decision,” he says. “We were idiots together.”

“Maybe,” Phil says. “Just everything feels wrong now. I don’t trust myself to know the right thing to do.” 

“All that money we spent, it’s just gone, with nothing to show for it,” Dan says, forlorn. 

Phil had thought about this on his walk, his mind circling around the problem but finding no purchase.

“We could break the lease and move in with my parents. Maybe we can even get some of our money back since we’ve only been here a few weeks,” he says, trying to sound upbeat. Part of him hopes Dan jumps on this idea and they can be back in his parent’s familiar house within the week, being fed and doted on by his mom.

But Dan is appalled. “Are you fucking kidding me? No way am I moving in with your parents. Or my parents, either. Anyone’s parents. Fuck that,” he says, and Phil can feel Dan’s shoulders hitch up with tension. 

A moment later Dan sighs. “I love your parents, you know that. I just love it here too, so much, with just you. We just got here. I’m not ready to leave.”

This is what Phil had thought about too, as he walked. Taking in the city around him, the good and the bad, the beautiful and dirty, its ceaseless energy like a tide. He desperately wants to be a part of it, and discover it with Dan.

“I’m so sad right now,” Phil ventures, pausing to take stock of the little pebble he can still feel in his chest. “But I also feel . . . a little bit stubborn. Maybe somewhat . . . ornery.”

“Oh yeah?” Dan asks, leaning away to look at Phil, his eyes tracing down Phil’s body and then back up to his eyes. “Well then, I know a determined Phil is unstoppable.” 

Then he smiles shyly, a little sad still. “You know what I realized after I gamed myself cross-eyed and screamed too much to Trivium? Maybe the radio idea was just the road we took to get here, and maybe the real reason we took the risk is because being here is really what we wanted all along.”

Phil nods, considering. “Ok, so say we stay. What does that look like?”

He sits up and turns to face Dan, absently stuffing the empty sandwich wrappers into the shopping bag and tossing it over the bed to the floor. He can feel his brain shift into planning mode; walking alone his brain just felt tangled, but here with Dan it feels like rocks are being cleared out of his mind, that a path is appearing now that he has someone beside him. 

“Well, if there’s anything we know how to do, it’s work hard,” Dan says. He smirks, a bit ruefully, “And we know that I have the best ideas,” he says.

Phil rolls his eyes, “Ok, you are a once-in-a-generation genius, most of the time.”

Phil’s phone starts to buzz in in his pocket, and he pulls it out to see Martyn’s name on the screen. He looks to Dan, who nods, so Phil puts the phone into speaker mode and places it on the bed between them.

“Martyn,” he says. “I’m here with Dan.”

“Hey guys,” Martyn says. “What’s up?”

“The BBC didn’t accept our pitch,” Phil says, and it’s easier to say this time. “We were just talking about what to do.”

“Oh that’s really bad luck, mates,” Martyn says, and the empathy in his voice loosens something in Phil. “You guys put yourselves out there, though. You gotta give yourselves credit for having some balls.”

Phil feels himself blush, the way he has always done when his older brother says anything nice about him.

He ducks his head. “Yeah, I guess. We don’t want to leave London, but I’m not sure how we can afford to stay.”

“Well, honestly, this doesn’t sound like much of an emergency to me,” Martyn says. Phil can feel Dan’s body relax beside him, and then Dan is leaning his head against Phil’s shoulder and winding his hand down to rest lightly on the inner curve of his thigh.

“Mar,” Dan says. “Can you help us talk through some numbers?” Phil can feel himself hesitate _—_ he never talks money with his family _—_ but then he nods to himself, because Dan is right. Data is what Martyn lives for.

“So the way I see it, you basically have just bought yourself a whole year in London to do whatever you want,” Martyn says. “Rent is paid for; what are your other expenses?”

Phil lists them out: utilities, food, transportation, video expenses, student debt, some credit card debt. And then, with a little bit of pride, he lays out the last few months of income they’ve received from their different YouTube videos. It’s not a lot, or remotely reliable, but enough to cover most of their monthly expenses. 

“I’ve been doing some research,” Martyn says, “and I’ve been tracking both of your subscriber numbers. My guess is that within a year you both will hit a million subscribers.” 

Phil feels his eyes widen.

“No way,” Dan breathes from beside him. “That would be insane.” 

But Martyn is adamant. “Look,” he says, “I really think you guys just need to keep doing what you’re doing. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Maybe the worst has already happened,” Phil says. “Maybe the BBC turning us down is as bad as it’s going to get.”

“Or the London sewer rats eat us,” Dan says.

Phil laughs, feeling some equilibrium return.

“You’ll figure it out,” Martyn says, and then it's his turn to hesitate. “I like talking to you guys about this kind of stuff. You can call me up anytime to talk business, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah, I do. Thanks Martyn, this helped,” Phil says, feeling a rush of gratitude for his family. 

“You’re the best,” Dan says, and then the call is over and it’s silent in the bedroom again.

“So,” Phil says, taking a finger and tracing a light pattern on Dan’s upturned palm, where it still rests on Phil’s thigh.

“So,” Dan replies, twisting his wrist and lacing their fingers together. “We just keep working our asses off, then? We’re not going to starve and be eaten by sewer rats?”

“It might be tight for a while, or maybe even the whole time, or maybe we end up more in debt, but we can at least say we’ve lived in London for a year, together,” Phil says, squeezing Dan’s hand. He feels like his heart rate has slowed down, and he’s feeling calm and safe, here in this circle of light with Dan. 

“We can do this,” Dan says. “Together, right? It’s gonna be ok.”

Phil nods, and he closes his eyes, turning so he can get his other arm around Dan and more fully press their bodies together. They take a deep breath at the same time, and he can feel the hum start in his body again, from that little pebble of confidence, and it feels like its message is surrounding them both, and what it’s singing is _yes, yes, yes, always this, always yes._

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr reblog link](https://letgladnessdwell.tumblr.com/post/189998648415/always-yes)


End file.
